


The Lies We Tell, Or Do Not Tell At All (Part 1)

by ByTheDawn



Series: Stolen Moments [13]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Heterosexual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByTheDawn/pseuds/ByTheDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://swanqueenweek.tumblr.com/">Swan Queen Week + Summer 2014</a>. Day three: Amnesia.</p><p>Missing scene from 'Kansas'; after Regina comes home from the vault where she has stashed Zelena's necklace, Emma is waiting for her to ask for her help: she wants to forget--again--and Regina finds herself confronted with her love for the blonde as she tries to convince her not to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lies We Tell, Or Do Not Tell At All (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> This is angsty, and it includes some Outlaw Queen since it follows canon. It's heavily glossed over with Swan Queen, though. This is **not** an Outlaw Queen fic. 
> 
> This fic is part one in a two part series, the second part of which will be posted on Thursday for the 'caregiving'-prompt. Enjoy!

She was waiting for her on the steps to the mansion when Regina returned from her vault: Emma Swan, jaw set and eyes puffy. Regina’s mind had been on other issues—her sister, mostly, tugged safely away in Storybrooke’s prison cell. The brunette couldn’t shake the vision of her redhead relative, wrapped securely in a blanket, stripped bare of pretence and spite. Her sister, alive and captured, and she had listened to Regina talk about life choices and the possibility of redemption. All these thoughts faded from Regina’s mind, however, once she found the blonde second mother to her child—as much as that term still applied with the terrible few weeks she’d had, trying to stay away from Henry—at her doorstep.

“Emma, are you alright?” She asked, locking the car and striding over as Emma heavily got up, shifting nervously from one foot onto the other as her hands disappeared into the back pockets of her jeans. “Is the baby alright?” 

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s with his—our—parents, and Henry. I…” Emma trailed off, obviously struggling with the contents of her mind. “I need to talk to you.”

Emma’s eyes drilled into her own, finally, and Regina could tell this was not going to be a pleasant talk. This was going to be one of those talks that made you want to cover your ears and wish you could be anywhere other than here, with this person, ruining your life with their words. Regina steeled herself, taking a deep breath of air. She had never been able to deny Emma anything, and today was not the day she would start.

“Alright…” She voiced heavily, nodding, and settled her house key in her hand as she brushed past the blonde, heading for the door to her home; whatever this was about, she was not having this conversation outside. Her feet were killing her, she was sore and tired, and today had been quite the day. She deserved a good measure of scotch and a couch.

Emma trailed after her as she entered, watching her as she flicked light switches on her way to the liquor table. She held up the bottle for Emma to see, and after a moment of indecision, Emma nodded. She poured them both a healthy helping, then focussed on deciding where to have this talk that Emma insisted upon. Seeing as the den had housed most of their interactions already, the den it was, and Emma followed her quietly, well aware Regina had guessed that this talk was going to be anything but pleasant. The fact that Regina wasn’t being corrected on her assumptions did not bode well, but since Regina had already been through the ringer, she didn’t have it in her to worry, although she admitted to a slightly faster heart rate. 

The brunette moulded her expression into a neutral state of acceptance before handing off one of the glasses and sitting down, having to bite back a smile as Emma sat down next to her on the couch instead of choosing the more impersonal opposite one to speak from. If Regina had not been so aware of how she carried her body after long years of being queen, she would have been able to fool herself into thinking that the way she aligned her body with Emma’s was subconscious, but she did not have that excuse. She knew very well that she was solely doing it because she wished to be closer to the blonde than they were now. 

She missed the short window of time in which they had been on friendly terms—the end of Henry’s rescue from Neverland, the few short hours after their return, and perhaps even the days after Emma’s return to Storybrooke. It hadn’t been much, but the connection between them had always tattered Regina—since moment one, when she had looked into bright green and had found such a rich world of emotions hidden behind it that she had felt herself drawn in like a moth to a flame. Someone real, someone aware—someone not cursed to forget her deeds. A breath of fresh air, and although they had fought, Emma had become a constant in Regina’s life to such an extent that she had found herself missing the blonde almost as much as she had found herself missing Henry while they were separated.

“Alright, let’s hear it.” Regina voiced, happy to find her voice firm and neutral. The trepidation that she was feeling only reflected marginally in her voice, and that was a blessing. Regina was quite sure Emma was clueless about the level of affection the older woman had for her, and she would rather keep it that way—especially with the storm that was gathering on Emma’s face.

“Okay, I—I guess I owe you a ‘thank you’.” Emma started slowly—hesitantly—and Regina arched a delicate brow. That was not what she had expected.

“A ‘thank you’?” She inquired. “A ‘thank you’ for what?”

“All these… memories I have with Henry, raising him? I know they never happened—” Pain flashed over Emma’s features at that. “…not to me, at least. They were your memories, right? First smile, first crawl, first step, first word… I wasn’t there for those, but you were.”

“It’s hard to create false memories; replacing myself with you and changing the location some was easier, yes.” Regina admitted, heart pounding in her chest. This was a conversation she had been itching to have for weeks now, not out of some misguided desire to receive praise or get recognised for her history with Henry—although she was not opposed to either reason—but because it was a conversation they _needed_ to have if they were going to co-parent Henry. 

A lot had changed for Emma with the memories Regina had instilled in her and the year she had spent taking care of Henry; not only was she now his mother by birth, but she was his mother by memory and experience. Regina recognised this fact—it was that realization that had kept her placated with the scraps of Henry’s time and attention she had been getting in the time he had been without his memories. 

She had understood Emma was trying to cope with the weight of her returned memories, and while it had taken a lot out of her to give Emma the time she needed to agree to co-parenting Henry, she had done it because she knew from experience how aversely Henry reacted to Regina pushing away his other mother. Besides, she hadn’t wanted to hurt Emma either; if it had been her who had suddenly found herself with guilt and confusion aplenty, she would have wanted Emma to give her time, too.

Regina considered her handling of the situation of an amnestic Henry one of the highlights of her redemption in the eyes of the few people whose opinion she actually cared about—Snow, Emma, Henry, and David to a degree. To find Emma on her doorstep now with a ‘thank you’ was either the crown to Regina’s hard work and perseverance, or the realization of her biggest fears, and judging by the expression on Emma’s face as she turned her glass in circles between her hands it was the latter.

“I thought so…” Emma finally told her, and shot her a weary smile that conveyed nothing but sadness. 

“Emma, please. Would you tell me what is going on? You are making me nervous.” Regina finally asked, swallowing her pride in favour of having the Band-Aid torn off rapidly instead of at this glacial pace that did nothing to alleviate her worry. 

“Yeah… sorry…” Emma answered, turning away from her and falling silent another moment as she contemplated her words. Regina sighed, settling in for a slightly extended wait as she took in hunched shoulders as Emma sat leaning forward, knees and feet apart, elbows on her knees and glass between her hands. Her hair hung like a curtain around her face, and in the soft lighting that came from behind her from a lamp on the wall, Emma looked almost angelic. Regina found herself smiling lightly, moved by the woman before her like she always was, but rarely allowed herself to be.

“Emma…” She prodded lightly, and Emma lifted her head.

“I don’t want to stay here. I want to leave.” She finally rushed out, and Regina felt her heart clench. She waited for the other shoe to drop. “…but I can’t leave Henry behind.”

Regina sighed, hanging her head a moment before straightening out. Emma met her eyes, and they communicated the emotions they would never put into words; they had always been able to say so much with just a glance. The grand gestures like chainsaws taken to beloved trees were outward manifestations of feelings neither of them had the emotional or verbal ability to formulate. Their ability to read each other was what made interacting with Emma so dangerous now; Regina had too much to hide.

“You are not taking our son, Emma.” She finally said softly, hoping to lessen the blow with the familiar—although rarely used these days—‘our son’. She was amazed at how much the words had hurt her to hear—at how much it felt like a personal failure on her end that Emma did not want to stay in Storybrooke. She had known Emma wanted to leave; of course she had. It had been written all over Emma’s face the moment she had arrived, and as soon as she had realized her trip to Storybrooke would be an extended one, she had withdrawn from Regina so completely that Regina had known she would only leave with Henry in tow. 

“Regina… I can’t stay here. What you gave me—us? I need that. Henry needs that.” Emma pleaded, and Regina finally felt a familiar twitch of anger threatening her calm demeanour, overtake her heartache.

“Henry has always done well here, with or without his memories. He doesn’t want to leave, and he doesn’t need anything else than his family around him. Don’t make this about him so I will agree to whatever proposal you have thought up.” She warned icily, and Emma had the decency to look guilty—deflated.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, and Regina counted to ten in her head so she could regain her grip on her anger. It had led her astray often enough to know that the situation would not be helped with an emotional outburst. They were both too frail for that, and they had come too long a way to explode now. Besides, if she blew up—if she gave in to her baser reactions—Emma would have an excuse to take Henry from her. For a long time now, Regina had been nothing but an exemplary parent, and she needed that leverage.

“I can’t even imagine what you are going through.” Regina finally spoke, trying to bridge the divide that was obviously between them, despite their physical closeness. “Coming back here must have been terrifying, and very painful. Recovering your memories… I can’t imagine, although I have seen _others_ remember what I caused them to forget. I’ve seen the joy, but also the pain, and remembering truly is not always a blessing.”

Emma looked up at her, then, guiltily—pleadingly—and Regina’s blood ran cold in her veins as she realized what Emma was about to ask of her: she was going to ask her to make them forget again, to wipe clean the memories recovered and made since Killian’s arrival in New York and to let them go back to that life—to the fancy apartment Regina had given them the money for through bank account details from Regina’s memories, to the school Henry’s friends went to, to the fun game nights mother and son had shared. It pained her that she understood the desire so well, to forget all about the bad, and just focus on the good Regina had provided for them. It seemed she had made their life _too_ good.

“Emma… no. I can’t. You are asking me to give him up _again_. I did it because else he would be in danger—because all of us would be in danger—but now? Storybrooke is where he belongs, with his family. I’m not even talking about myself; what about his grandparents? Snow and David, who have lost not only you—twice—but him before as well? Rumplestiltskin, who has just lost a son? What about the people who know and love him? Ruby? Granny? He loves all these people—deeply. Taking him away from them, taking his memories of them away… that’s cruel.” Regina tried, finding her voice landing somewhere between accusation and a plea.

“When I took everyone’s memories, I was cruel, and I wanted to cause that level of devastation. It was _evil_. You are not evil, Emma, and you cannot ask of me to give up my son, nor to live with the repercussions of this decision that you have undoubtedly neglected to discuss with anyone—Henry included. You are asking me to sacrifice not solely my son, but my marginally repaired relationship with Snow and David, as well as negate the good I have tried to do so desperately these last two years. Snow and David will blame _me_ —hate _me_ —if I do this, everyone in town will start seeing me as the woman who took their beloved Savior and Truest Believer from them—because it will be easier for them to blame it on me than to face the fact that _you_ wanted to leave _them_. No, Emma. Not only will I not lose my son to your selfish request, I will not submit to another forty years of hate directed at me because I went along with the wishes of others. I did not know better when I cast the Dark Curse, but I know better now. I am not removing your memories, and if you insist on taking Henry away from Storybrooke—away from me—you will have to live with the consequences of that decision.” Regina swore, watching and rising with Emma as she did, and discarding her drink on the table as she kept talking, despite the fact that Emma Swan was fleeing her house, hiding her tears from her. 

By the time Regina had finished speaking, Emma was half way down the path leading to the road, and Regina stopped at the steps leading up to the door.

“What are you so afraid of, Emma? Why do you want to run so badly?” She called out, and like she had anticipated—predicted—Emma suddenly turned around and took two firm steps back in Regina’s direction, face contorted in rage and anguish. Regina weathered the storm without flinching; it had been directed at her before, and quite honestly, she had seen worse.

“Me!” Emma called out, and seemed shocked by her own admission. Regina wasn’t; she had always known Emma ran from no one and nothing more than from herself.

“Why?” She asked gently but firmly, and Emma deflated before her eyes, tears suddenly rising again and dripping down over reddened cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled, and suddenly, she looked so very young. Without much thought, Regina traversed the distance between them, but hesitated when she got close. They had never been one for physical contact—they were both too emotionally stunted for that—but she felt the need to connect them now. Like before, at the town border, Regina reached out and like before, Emma brought up her hand before Regina even reached hers. She gripped it lightly, with both hands, and ran her thumb over soft and cold skin. “Why, Emma?”

“Because I didn’t—because I—” Emma started, but fell silent, choking on her tears. Regina gripped her hand tighter, drilling her gaze into Emma’s and keeping her trapped—tattered—as Emma came to grips with her thoughts and emotions. It had taken Regina twenty-nine long years to come to grips with her past mistakes and to start forgiving herself for them. Emma was doing all that soul searching in the span of a few weeks, and Regina understood how much she was hurting.

“Because I abandoned him, because my parents abandoned me. Because I don’t think I can go back to being this… ‘savior’ and having people rely on me because I will always, _always_ want to run away.” Emma finally formulated, and Regina exhaled audibly, relieved to hear her thoughts confirmed.

“You came back, though.” She tried to appease Emma’s fears, to which Emma all but snorted.

“Because I had no idea what I was coming back _to_! Hook just told me my family was in danger; he didn’t tell me I gave up my _son_ when he was born, he didn’t tell me about the curse I had to break, about the lives I had to destroy in order to do that. You know what Ruby told me after I’d broken the curse? That she wished she had never remembered her old life. She was _happy_ as Ruby, even though her life wasn’t perfect. At least she didn’t have memories of waking up to discover she had killed her boyfriend, or her mother. I didn’t want to understand her then, but I do now, don’t I? I just want to forget again...” Emma rushed out, gasping for breath through her break-down, and Regina found her own eyes damp in reaction to the other woman’s pain. She cared too much for Emma to be able to see her hurting without feeling affected.

“I think you’ve forgotten enough; I think you have forgotten the joy you have brought to your parents, I think you have forgotten about how much you mean to Henry, I think you have forgotten about all the people who are grateful to you every day for restoring their memories.” Regina started softly. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to go on, to take a leap and open up—even if it was just a little.

“…I think you have forgotten about how you have changed my life—for the better. Oh don’t look so surprised—yes, I hated you when you first came here, hell-bent on taking my son from me. I could see it in your eyes the moment you arrived: you were never giving up Henry. You loved him—you had never stopped loving him—and even though your words said otherwise, your eyes told me the truth. You weren’t leaving again; you would stop running _for him_.” Regina continued, bemusedly taking in how Emma’s tears dried in shock as Regina told her about her own experiences. It was as if she had simply forgotten she was half way through a nervous break-down, and was shocked into silence. It was adorable.

“…I feared you because you were going to break my curse and everyone would remember what I had done to them—I feared what they would do to me—think of me—and without you, I doubt I would still be alive. I was defenceless once the curse broke, but you did not let the town’s people harm me. You gave me a chance to redeem myself, and I took it. I grabbed onto it with both hands. I vowed to do better for Henry, but I also wanted to show _you_ I could do better, that your nearly unwavering faith in me was justified. It had been so long, Emma, so long since anyone had stood up for me—had tried to help me. Thirty years, at least, and even Tinker Bell’s efforts were short-lived. You have always believed in me, even when my son gave up on me. That has meant more to me than I can ever accurately express of repay.” Regina formulated carefully, allowing her heart to speak and seeing every word land heavily upon the younger blonde. Emma’s tears may have dried, but now Regina’s had started falling, and even though she was smiling, she was also in pain over the truth of her own words. She had been so lonely, in so much pain, over the last forty years or so, that as much as she had feared Emma’s presence in Storybrooke, she had also latched onto her like a lifeline. Like a second chance.

She thought of Robin, who had told her they were each other’s second chances, and felt her heart ache. She wondered if—had things been different, if they hadn’t both been so closed off and slow on accepting the way they helped each other heal—she would have entrusted Emma with her heart. She had given Emma her heart, regardless, but because Robin had been there for her, she had accepted his advances instead of suffering in silence. He got her blood pumping in a fraction of the way Emma had done when they had first met—and clashed—but unlike Emma, he had pursued her. If Emma had given her more than heated glances, would she have acted upon the tension that had always lingered between them?

Would she now, if given the chance?

“I don’t know what to say…” Emma whispered, her tears forgotten, and Regina made a conscious effort to stop hers. Instead, they locked eyes as Regina exhaled a shuddering breath.

“You don’t have to say anything, Emma, but it’s something _I_ needed to tell you—something I thought you needed to hear.” Regina answered and when Emma bit her lip, Regina found her eyes drawn to the motion, taking in full lips and lingering just a moment too long as feelings that had barely been contained for years now surfaced in the face of Emma’s desire to leave, and her own admission of attraction towards the blonde. Once she dragged her eyes back up, Emma was studying her, eyes flicking between hers, searching her face in the way she did when she was trying to spot lies.

“I’m sorry.” Emma whispered, and Regina smiled softly, emotionally. 

“For what, Emma?” She asked, knowing there were a thousand small transgressions to be sorry about—and another thousand more from her side.

“For asking you to… you know… It was selfish and stupid.” Emma answered miserably, pulling her hand from Regina’s and turning away as tears once more came to her eyes. This self-hate was something Regina found hard to deal with; it had never been her way of handling the world and all who had wronged her—she had lashed out, blamed others. Emma mostly just blamed herself.

“Wait.” She hurriedly spoke, stepping with Emma and laying a hand softly on her arm, closing over soft leather that Regina had come to identify with the blonde. Emma slowed, turning only half-way towards her, but at least she stopped and did not shake off Regina’s hand. 

“It’s okay. I understand wanting to hide, to close your eyes to it all but… Henry needs his family, your family needs you and Henry both—and so do I. You have become a very important part of my life, Emma, and it has nothing to do with you being the Savior. You have always seen me as Regina. Even at my worst, I was always Regina to you. Well, to me, you have always been Emma. You are Henry’s biological mother, his second parent, and while I may have wanted to run you out of Storybrooke for a long time because I was terrified of what you would cause to happen, I would be devastated if you left—again. I don’t want to put more weight on you… I just want to tell you that… I see you, Emma. I see you like you see me… and if you left, I would miss you. Very much.” Regina whispered softly, finding herself stepping closer to Emma in an effort to bring her point across even better. She wanted Emma to at least know that for one person in this town, she did not have to pretend. She could just be Emma—and that that would be enough. It always had been.

“I can’t make you forget, Emma, but—at the risk of sounding corny—if you ever need a place to just… forget, about everything, then my door is always open to you. Just consider what I’ve said.” She said, and suddenly found herself too close, too emotional—too vulnerable. She swallowed and let go of Emma’s arm, stepping back and turning around. She had said all she had wanted to say—all that she could. It was up to Emma now to decide… but if she took Henry, Regina would chase her to the ends of the Earth to get him back. She was not letting him go without a fight, although she suspected Henry would put up a pretty huge fight himself if taken away from Storybrooke against his will. 

“Regina, wait!” Emma called the words after her when she was already up the steps to her front door. She hesitated, feeling relief flood her system in a way she knew she should not allow herself. Regina had decided long ago that Emma Swan—despite her swagger and dress style—was very much straight. The vibes she gave off were entirely unintentional—the result of long years living on the defence, and acquired through her interactions with her colleagues in a male-dominated world. Prison most likely had not ‘helped’ her posture either. Emma might have piqued her radar when the heated glances directed her way were at their height, but Regina had been quite certain for a long time now that Emma did not bat for her team; she was just a woman who emoted in bursts instead of gradually. That knowledge had led to a lot of abuse on her end, but Regina had tried to steel her heart all the while. The love she felt for Emma was not something the other woman returned; she was important to Emma, but not romantically, and no matter how badly she wanted to interpret Emma’s actions as such, she shouldn’t allow herself to do so—not ever—and so she closed herself off. It was unfair to Emma after Regina had just opened up so, but the brunette truly saw no other way to salvage what was left of her heart and sanity.

She turned, swallowing, and found Emma a few steps behind her, just in front of the bottom step. Oh how Regina wished that the emotions she found on Emma’s face—the conflict, the gratitude, the love, platonic as it was—came from the same source as the emotions Regina desperately tried to keep from showing on her features. She had seen this mixture of emotions before, at the town line when they had said goodbye. Emma hadn’t wanted to leave then, and Regina found herself with her heart in her throat, searing with hope—a hope she cursed, because as much as she never wanted Emma to leave, she also did not want to suffer the heartache of unrequited love.

“What is it, Emma?” She said softly, her voice a tad sharp. “I don’t think I can take much more today…”

Emma faltered a moment, licking her lips, and Regina cursed herself when her eyes flitted to the motion. She forced her eyes up roughly, locking with questioning green—and knew she had been caught staring. Well, so be it. She had been in love with Emma for a long time, only realizing it when she was about to lose her, and while she had tried to accept Robin as a substitute—because it felt good to be pursued and cared about—it hadn’t worked. Her heart belonged to Emma, and it had been that reason exactly that had led her to allow Robin to care for her heart the last few days instead of Emma: she had been too afraid of the symbolic implications of the gesture. And yet, even without her heart, she had loved Henry, and she had loved Emma—although it had been blissful to have her emotions for the blonde dampened for a while.

“I-I don’t want to go back yet. Could I, maybe, come in now…? I can make you something to eat…? I know how to do that now, thanks to you.” Emma said, and the playfully shy smirk on the blonde’s features did things to Regina’s insides that set off warning bells. She carefully stifled a sigh and squared her shoulders, towering over the blonde.

“I am not sure that would be wise.” Regina answered haughtily, hating to deny the blonde, but she was too affected, and her emotions too close to the surface. She would betray her own vow to keep her emotions private if she let Emma in right now, although she appreciated the effort it must have taken Emma to even make her request. Emma faltered, looking crestfallen and confused. 

“…why not?” Emma voiced, and the guarded whine to her voice was entirely endearing. It was this childish side to Emma that had first gotten under Regina’s skin—the part of her that sat cross-legged on chairs, the part of her that indulged herself in bear claws and other baked goods, the part of her that lit up Regina’s world when she smiled. Oh God, Regina really had it bad, and Emma could read it on her face, she knew. She was emoting far too much, her defences lowered by today’s victory and the hope over having a sister willing to listen to her—a sister she could potentially save from the darkness her mother left behind in all whose lives she had touched.

“Because, Emma. Just… because.” She answered gruffly, struggling to remain standing and not run herself. She didn’t trust her own words, nor her body. 

“I don’t understand.” Emma told her, pleading between the words to have this reaction explained to her, and Regina realized Emma really was incredibly straight to miss the torch Regina carried for her—or perhaps she was simply not used to being loved. She knew that feeling very well. Again, Robin played through her mind, and she forced herself to think of heated kisses and touches that left her craving more—and she wasn’t sure if he would be able to provide that for her. She forced the thoughts from her mind.

“Please, forget it. Go home, go to Henry. I’ll come to the inn to collect him tomorrow for our visit. If you do decide to leave Storybrooke, tell me before you do. Know, though, that if you take Henry, my gratitude towards you will not prevent me from getting him back.” Regina told the woman before her, finding her voice cold and hard—the Evil Queen’s voice she could still tap into. Emma flinched.

“Regina, I…” Emma tried, but Regina dismissed her with a wave of her hand, feeling her heart break. She went in for the proverbial kill, then, needing this exchange to be over. She was tearing at the seams as it was, and Emma was looking at her with big eyes and pain. She couldn’t deal with this right now.

“Robin will be here soon, Emma, and we would like to enjoy dinner alone, so if you don’t mind…?” She answered curtly, and Emma dipped her head a moment, the pain of rejection intensifying, and in a perverse way, Regina derived pleasure from the exchange. She was hurting too much herself, she felt rejected herself; placing some of that burden on Emma was oddly satisfying. Well, oddly… inflicting her own pain upon others had always been her modus operandi. She shouldn’t be surprised that the way Emma Swan seemed to shrink under the sudden change in her tone and demeanour made her feel better—or at least less in pain. 

Emma licked her lips, searching her face a long moment, before her hands slipped into the front pockets of her jeans and she scoffed, kicking the bottom step lightly as her shoulders hunched in defeat. Regina felt herself crack, guilt washing over her, but she remained motionless, down-looking the blonde woman who had the ability to destroy her with a glance, a touch, a word. She watched her turn silently, and this time she didn’t give chase, although her heart was breaking. Instead, she turned around, took a deep breath, and entered the mansion. Closing the door, she leaned heavily against the wood for long moments as she listened to the sounds of the Bug’s engine roar to life and she could envision Emma steeling herself just like Regina was doing: moving on, closing off, and not showing the pain of rejection. She hoped Emma had better luck with the latter than she was having. 

She prepared dinner in a haze, imprinting upon herself again and again that she had chosen Robin Hood, that he, at least, _wanted_ to be romantically engaged with her. She reminded herself of fairy dust, and soul mates, and kisses in the woods that had engaged her baser drives. She fought the images of Graham her singularly sexual attraction and faux feelings for Robin conjured in her, but latched onto that part of herself as well; the part of the Queen who had ordered a man to her bedchambers to fulfil her needs. She could do that again, and like with Graham, she could pretend that she truly cared—she could convince herself that she was in love with Robin like she had pretended with Graham. If she managed to act for long enough, she would eventually start believing it—feeling it.

Once he arrived, she kissed him as if she was drowning, and the way he wrapped himself around her and pulled her into him was enough to shut off her brain. She fed him morsels of food and allowed him to feed her in return. They drank wine in front of the fireplace and she told him about Daniel—the one man she actually _had_ loved, and who had lost his life for returning the emotion. She told him she never thought she would have this, and felt her heart clench as blonde curls danced in front of her mind’s eye and pained green orbs engraved themselves upon her again as she remembered Emma deflating in front of her just a few hours prior. 

To drown the memories, she kissed Robin again, and again, and again, and when he took the wine glass from her and lowered her to the ground, she let him kiss down her neck and chest, exposing her to the glow of the fire. She gave herself to him and thought of Emma only, although she tried to fight it. Once he stopped to ask if she was alright, if she was ready for this, she nodded hurriedly, and kissed him again. This time, she allowed her fantasies to overlay her reality and as she closed her eyes, she imagined Emma’s mouth moving against hers, envisioned her fingers traversing her skin, and when she came—finally, after so long a time that she had started contemplated faking it—she had to bite down into Robin’s shoulder to keep from calling Emma’s name. 

Once he left upon request—he would have stayed with her for the night, had she allowed him, but she knew she would not be able to bear his presence for longer than this without falling apart—she finally allowed herself the emotional break-down she needed so much. She felt dirty—dirtier than she had ever felt with Graham. She had actively given in to her fantasies of the blonde—that was something she had never allowed herself to do, not even when alone—and now, she had thought of the blonde almost exclusively during her first time with Robin. It was unfair to Robin, and to herself. Perhaps, it was even unfair to Emma, but after this afternoon’s request, Regina didn’t particularly mind that.

She cried herself empty as she watched the fire die down, and then gruffly got up from the couch she had hoisted herself upon, redressed, cleared the mess, and went in for a long shower during which she tried to scrub the guilt off of her skin and from between her legs. She slipped into a night gown and then between the sheets with a numbness that was far too familiar to her—it had been her constant companion for years. 

Before she closed her eyes, she reminded herself once again of a lion tattoo, of the pleasure she had just experienced, and did not allow herself to think of Emma Swan, who could never be to Regina what she wanted her to be. She was in love with Robin Hood, and she repeated that statement again and again, until she fell asleep, exhausted by the day. She prayed that, by the return of the morning’s light, she would believe it—or could at least convince others of it. She needed Robin to fight the loneliness and the heartache. Like Graham, she needed at least _someone_ if she couldn’t have the one she wanted. She needed to have at least him.

  
 **[Continued for the ‘caregiving’-prompt](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1776109).**


End file.
